


And let's light the bonfire candles, And the winds from far away

by bluelovesstuff



Category: The Creatures (Youtube RPF)
Genre: M/M, NovaHD - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3724645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluelovesstuff/pseuds/bluelovesstuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James is a painter and Aleks is a nerd who likes English and one night while they're sleeping a fire starts and James isn't ever the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And let's light the bonfire candles, And the winds from far away

**Author's Note:**

> PROMPT: Person A is a painter who fell in love with Person B, but they are separated in some kind of disaster and Person A believes Person B to be dead. Years later, Person B attends an art show and discovers most of the art contains paintings of a person who looks exactly like them. It turns out that Person B survived, but lost their memory and Person A has done nothing but paint pictures of Person B to keep the memories of them alive.
> 
>  
> 
> [Follow My Tumblr](http://tropicalaleks.tumblr.com/)

 

James held a paint brush between his teeth, puffing out a laugh as Aleks poked at his side playfully.

He stood in their apartment’s living room, a partially finished canvas before him as he held his pallet in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Aleks sat on a stool beside him, watching in fascination as his boyfriend tapped his foot, trying to figure out what shade of blue to use for the background.

James smiled to himself, watching as Aleks held a textbook close in his lap, “Which blue looks better, this one or this one?” He asked.

Aleks twisted his lips in pondering, finally pointing to the darker blue on the left, “That one. Seems more reasonable as a sky than the bluish purple one.” He said, pushing at his glasses that sat on the rim of his nose.

James pressed his lips together, taking the paint brush and dipping it into the ‘bluish purple’ color. Aleks scoffed and James snickered to himself as Aleks swatted at him.

“Why ask for my opinion if you’re not going to use it?” He whined.

James smiled down at him, “Well, you said that the other would be reasonable and I’m doing an abstract painting, Aleks. The colors aren’t supposed to be reasonable.”

Aleks huffed out a breath and watched as James began to paint with the color, “Hm, I guess it’ll do. Just don’t ask for my help when you can’t get the color out of your shirt.” He murmured, laughing softly to himself as he smudged the blue onto James’ green t-shirt.

James gasped, nose wrinkling in mock disgust at the glob of blue, “You’re so hard headed, you know that?” He laughed out, dotting a spot of red onto Aleks’ nose, “Rudolph.”

Aleks attempted to rub off the paint, only smearing it more onto his cheek. James cooed mockingly and Aleks stood, setting down his textbook and slipping off his glasses as he suddenly nosed at James’ cheek teasingly.

James smirked and pulled at the nape of hair on his neck, connecting their lips briefly before pulling away and smearing blue onto his chin. Aleks simply chuckled and pressed his lips back against the other’s, causing him to drop the paint covered pallet onto the floor with a thud and cover one another in smears of paint.

\--

It was one in the morning when Aleks woke to the smell of smoke.

He sat up groggily in bed, squinting and coughing slightly when he realized that the bedroom was filled with a thick layer of grey. He began to cough even more as he sat up to shake James frantically, who simply groaned and turned over in the sheets.

Aleks’ eyes finally began to adjust and he saw a bright orange light peeking from underneath their bedroom door, his eyes widening as he realized that it was not a light, but a flame.

“James, get up, _now_!” He exclaimed, “James, I’m serious, please!”

James inhaled sharply, jolting up from his spot and taking Aleks’ hand in his own as he seemed to notice the fire outside the door as well. James immediately grabbed for his cell phone, Aleks doing the same as they both dialed 911 and were told that firemen were already on the way and that they needed to reach a safe and stable place, preferably near a window to climb out of.

James swore when their white bedroom door began to turn dark, flames entering the room quickly. James took Aleks’ hand, grabbing thick jackets that shielded them slightly from the fire as they ran into the bathroom that connected to the living room.

James gasped as his eyes scanned the living room, all his paintings and supplies burned to the core. The flame hadn’t reached the edge of the living room yet, so James tested the flooring first before quickly pulling Aleks along with him, who coughed violently at the thick smoke.

James kept the younger close as they finally reached the main hallway of their floor. Their neighbors were scattered down the hallway as well, their loved ones in their arms as they gestured for the couple to follow them down the emergency stairwell.

Aleks tightened his grip of James’ hand as he felt his vision blur, his lungs too tired and too worn from the lack of oxygen. James  quickly carried him under his arm, following the families down the stairwell with quick pace as the smoke only seemed to grow thicker as they traveled downwards.

Aleks coughed, “James, stop- I _can’t_.” He groaned.

The group of people paused their motions as Aleks suddenly fell completely into James’ arms, two men around their age quickly taking them in their arms to continue down the stairs.

There was a scream from the front of the group and suddenly the stairs below them began to collapse. In front of James’ eyes, people began to duck and take cover as rubble and burning wood began to fall from above. The men helping him hold Aleks stayed firm with their grip, but as James made another step forward, he suddenly lost the feeling of his feet on the ground and fell through an unstable gap in the stairwell.

He shouted as his grip from Aleks seemed to slip and he began to plummet down, his breath knocked out of him as he braced for the burning impact. His last glimpse of Aleks was through the gap in the stairwell, the younger’s face covered in ash and his skin pink from burns, his limp body gently being held in the mens’ arms as they unsuccessfully reached out to James.

\--

It hurt to open his eyes, that was the first thing James felt.

The first thing he saw when he opened them slowly was his mother, who was grasping his hand with growing tears in her tired eyes. He opened his mouth, finding it dry and being shushed by his mother as she handed him a bottle of water.

He reached out for the bottle, only to groan out in pain as he noticed a thick bandage on the limb. James’ mother frowned sympathetically, letting him drink some water through a straw.

She set the water down and took his hands into hers as he swallowed deeply at her downcast expression. Her lip began to shake and the words that began to pool out of them made James’ ears go numb.

“They- They couldn’t find _him_ , baby. They searched and searched, but they didn’t find any sign of him. I’m so sorry, baby.” She whispered.

She gently held him in her arms as he sobbed violently, the tears stinging his blistered cheeks.

\--

_//five years passing ; james is 28|29 years old//_

James rubbed a washcloth over his aching hands, scrubbing any remaining paint off the skin and under his nails. He sighed as he glanced up at the mirror in front of him, tired eyes and an unshaven face staring back. He switched the faucet off, drying his hands and walking back over to his canvases hung on the walls to dry.

He stared longingly at the paintings for a few moments before flicking off the studio’s lights and locking the building’s door. He stuffed his hands into his jean pockets as he slipped on his sunglasses, despite it being at least midnight in the city of Manhattan.

Tugging at his coat, he curved around the crowds of sluggishly slow and tired people, his footing quick as he made his way to the subway’s entrance. Once he entered his transportation card and waited for the train’s doors to slide open, he pulled out his phone and leaned against a metal railing in the crowded space.

One text from Seamus, two from Joe, and a missed call from his mother. He sighed and regretted checking the device in the first place, instead settling for his earbuds and a playlist he had made for blocking out the murmurs of the public transportation system.

The subway eased to a stop and James was one of the first to file out, flipping up his coat’s collar as the harsh winter air blew at his bare neck as he stepped back onto the street’s crowded sidewalk. He rubbed his hands together as he walked, finally coming to a stop as he reached his home.

It wasn’t much, in James’ opinion. Worn brick with a navy door and a potted plant that his neighbor had given him as a Christmas present last year. The plant required minimal to no water and could withstand the burning heat and bitter colds of Manhattan. The house was two storied, but James decided that he’d rent out the upstairs as storage for his neighbors, not particularly liking the creaking of the stairs and the floor boards.

James pushed his key into the bronze lock, slipping off his coat and placing it in the cluttered closet to his right. He smiled tiredly as his old corgi came running to the door, her tongue hanging loosely as she licked at his hand in greeting.

He pat her head, craning his neck and cracking sore joints as he made his way into the kitchen, turning on the small TV set on the edge of the counter to the local news as he began to make himself a sandwich and a glass of milk before heading up to bed.

He made sure to fill Ein’s water bowl, smiling as the old girl lapped at the water lazily. He made a mental note to remind  himself to take her down to the park tomorrow for some fresh air; something that they both needed.

He ate in silence against the kitchen’s counter, eventually growing tired of the news and changing it to a nighttime talk show that didn’t once make him crack a smile or laugh, much to his surprise.

He switched the TV off, setting his plate into the sink and drinking the last bit of milk before turning off the kitchen’s light altogether, clicking his tongue to Ein as he made his way into his bedroom.

Ein followed obediently, patiently waiting for her owner to lift her up onto the bed that was pressed into the corner of the bedroom. He did with a huff, making sure her pillows were in the right order as she circled and curled into her designated spot.

He smiled and walked over to his dresser, slipping out of his clothes and placing on a clean pair of boxers. He shut the door with a click, his feet cold against the wooden floors until he slipped under the bed’s sheets and finally decided to reply to his messages.

Once he assured his friends of his survival and that he was home safely, he pulled at his lamp’s string, plugging in his phone and turning over in the sheets to pull the comforter closer to him.

\--

James splashed water onto his face, wiping off the remainder of toothpaste foam from his lips and slipping on his watch carefully. The watch no longer worked, the once red and silver plastic still slowly deteriorating from the ash and flame that had once covered it. He brushed his thumb over the time that stuck onto its face, _2:39 AM_.

He clicked his tongue as he slipped on his coat, leash in hand and sunglasses fitting on the bridge of his nose. Ein ran into the room, happy to see the leash and James’ usual walking attire. He laughed softly as she waited patiently for him on the house’s steps to slip his shoes on and lock the door.

She knew the route to the park, so James allowed her to lead the way, nonetheless still walking affectionately by his side. Familiar morning joggers and cyclists passed them, waving to the pair and earning a kind nod from James in return.

They finally reached the park and James spotted a familiar face sitting underneath a familiar tree. He released Ein amongst the other free roaming dogs, knowing that she’d never run away from him. He sat beside them, waiting for them to notice his presence as their eyes seemed to stick to a book in front of them.

Seamus closed the book, “You know, I really fucking hate fiction books.” He grumbled.

James smiled softly, “Why?”

“Well for starters, the protagonist always has some fucking awful trait that sets them out from others; like their name or where they came from. Then, they always have to be talented or gifted at something that no one else is good at- I just, I prefer non-fiction.” Seamus ranted, running a hand through his hair.

James nodded, silence taking over as he crossed his legs in front of him just as the blond beside him. Seamus glanced over to him, watching as the younger followed Ein’s whereabouts calmly.

“You finished those painting last night?” He asked.

James hummed, “Took me long enough. I couldn’t decide on-”

“Colors,” Seamus finished, “Of course you couldn’t.” He said with a chuckle.

James’ lip curved up into a smile, “You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to distinguish blood orange from red.” He joked, earning another small burst of laughter from the blond.

It was silent for another moment, both men watching as Ein interacted with the other dogs among her. Ein wasn’t very social, but it seemed that she attracted a lot of unwanted attention that she had to deal with

Seamus spoke up, “I would love to see them, y’know.” He murmured.

James lifted a brow, “The paintings?”

Seamus nodded, tilting his head back, “ _C’mon_ , I’m your best friend. I at least get a sneak peak before the gala.” He whined, smiling as James rolled his eyes.

James stared at him for a moment, as if contemplating his pleading expression, finally giving in with a sigh, “Okay, but if they’re shit, you better fucking tell me.”

Seamus threw his fist up victoriously, “Let’s go then, I think Ein’s had enough of mingling with the peasants.” He said, smiling as Ein saw the two stand and began to scamper her way over to them.

\--

James pressed the key into the lock, pausing his motions and turning to Seamus, “Okay, so I know they’re not my _best_ ones I’ve done and I know you’ll probably hate them because I’m backtracking and shit, but I just want you to know that I _really_ -”

Seamus crossed his arms, “James, I’m sure they’re great.” He reassured, ceasing the younger’s insecure ramblings.

James bit his lip, “Okay, _okay_ right, yeah. Well, I guess.” He mumbled, pushing the door open and standing idle as Seamus kneeled, releasing Ein into the studio freely before standing and blinking at the darkness.

“James, you’re gonna need to turn on the-”

James nodded, “Yeah, right. I knew that, let me just...” He rambled, slowly flicking on the bright lights to display the paintings.

Seamus covered his mouth with his hand to keep a gasp from exiting his mouth. Ein glanced over immediately to the blond, who simply kept his eyes on the canvases and pet the corgi on the head distractedly as he walked over to them.

He ran a hand through his hair, keeping it there as he reached out to thumb at one of the paintings. James suddenly stood beside him, eyes set on the ground as he waited for Seamus to scold him.

Instead, Seamus let out a wet sob and embraced James tightly, surprising James greatly as he wrapped his arms hesitantly around the blond as well. Seamus buried his face into the younger’s shoulder, clutching at the collar of his coat tightly.

“You have no idea how _fucking amazing_ these are.” He breathed.

James pulled away, eyes teary as well, “I don’t understand. I thought you would’ve told me that they were wrong and that I needed to move on and that I wasn’t helping and that you were offended since _he_ was your _best friend_ too and I just- Thank you.” He rushed out, a sincere smile on his face as Seamus began to sniffle and inspect the painting even more.

Seamus may or may not’ve believed that his best friend might be the next Picasso or Van Gogh.

\--

James watched as they hung up his final painting in the bright spotlight. He had asked that the paintings be displayed on the first floor, not caring that the second floor showed more experienced artists while the first showed beginners. He did not want his canvases to even dare to touch the second floor.

Night came and James applied a thick coat of germ-x to his hands before he began to shake hands of familiar faces and hands of people he had never once seen before. Some of the people had a familiar accent, while some didn’t even speak English at all and spoke a language that James only dreamed of understanding, like French and Italian and German.

They all stated in some way that his paintings were absolutely brilliant and asked what inspired him to paint the model in the scenes and portraits. James had simply gripped his wine glass that was actually filled with grape juice just a little tighter and gratefully had Seamus and Joe reply politely for him.

The night seemed to die down quickly, the high offers that James never expected to receive for the paintings making Seamus and Joe quickly have to tape a piece of paper onto James’ wall that stated that ‘the paintings were not for sale (even if the money could buy a nice house and maybe a car or two for the friends)’.

The owner of the building shook James’ hand and handed him the keys, saying that he could lock up whenever he wanted to. The remaining artists in the building showed their awe at his paintings with a list of questions of his techniques to which James gladly answered, speaking of the lighting he prefered and the music he listened to and the types of brushes to use at what angle.

Finally, it soon reached midnight and the three men sat against the wall that faced James’ masterpieces, staring at them while nibbling at sandwich bites and sipping on grape juice.

Joe was the first to speak, “We could’ve bought _five_ nice houses with that last offer.” He said, putting away the calculator on his phone.

James smiled at him, “You asking me to be the perfect housewife or somethin’, Joey?” He teased.

Joe rolled his eyes and took an exaggerated swig of juice, “You bet, honey.”

Seamus laughed, “We could’ve _retired_ and bought an _island_ with that last offer, _fuck_ houses.”

James let out a noise of opposition, “Why’re you guys always focused on money?”

Joe and Seamus shrugged, “It’s something you have to worry about when you’re not being offered hundreds of thousands of dollars for a single painting.” Seamus replied.

James rolled his eyes and was just about to reply with a snarky comment about Seamus’ popular bookstore and Joe’s editorial business when the sound of the front door opened made the trio stop chatting abruptly.

Joe furrowed his brow, “Who could that be, it’s like,” He paused to check his watch, “ _2:29_.”

James sighed, standing and handing his cup of juice to Seamus, who gladly downed the liquid much to James’ quiet protests, “I’ll go see what they want. It’s probably one of those guys offering to take the painting, back for more.” He said with a soft laugh, pulling at his rolled button up’s sleeves.

Though, when he circled around the corner of the first floor’s main wall, he spotted a face that he had not once seen all night. The man was tall, hands on his knees as he breathed hard and gasped for breath.

James raised a brow, “Can I... help you with something? Maybe some water?” He asked cautiously.

The man waved him off kindly, smiling at him, “I’m good, thank you. I just- We just- We were rushing to get to the gala before it closed at midnight, but our cab got stuck in traffic and we had to walk here-”

James saw no sign of any person or people behind the man, “We?”

The man nodded, inhaling deeply, “My friend, loves some guy’s work that is being shown here tonight. Something about how he uses different colors, I don’t know Jackson Wilson or something.” The man admitted, finally catching his breath.

James’ lips curled slowly, “That’s me, actually. James Wilson, pleasure to meet you.” He said, extending his hand.

The man shook it politely, “My friend, _god_ he’s going to freak out, actually loves your paintings. He’s been working hard to get a few days off from being his professor’s assistant at NYU just to come see your paintings.”

James tilted his head, “Professor’s assistant?”

The taller man nodded, “He’s shadowing over him because he wants to be an English professor himself, preferably at NYU but not at such a high level as his current professor is.”

James swallowed and smiled, still slightly uncomfortable, “I’m sorry, I never got your name.”

The man opened his mouth, but was interrupted as a hooded figure came stumbling through the door. James furrowed his brow as the taller man smiled at the hooded man.

The hooded man finally slipped off the fabric from his head and James felt his stomach churn as the taller man began to speak, “My name’s Jordan and this is my friend I was telling you about-”

James swallowed, not taking his eyes off the once hooded figure with an oversized pair of glasses sitting on the rim of his nose and a head full of dark brown hair and pale skin and big dark eyes and James felt his breath become knocked out of him and he shook his head and shook his head, tears finally welling up in his eyes as he said no, no, no repeatedly in his head.

“ _Aleks._ ” James breathed out.

Jordan raised his brow, “Oh um, yeah,” He let out a soft laugh which slowly dissipated once he glanced over to see Aleks’ entranced eyes on the painter, “ _How_ \- How did you know that?”

James heard footsteps behind him and a gasp emit from Seamus.

“Aleks,” He whispered, reaching out to the younger who began to back away from the dark haired man, “Aleks, it’s _me_. Aleks, what’s wrong?”

Aleks’ face lost its color, “I don’t know you. I don’t know who you are, but you sound _so_ familiar.” He breathed, “Who are you?”

James could physically feel his heart shatter, “You don’t remember me.” He said as more of a dejected statement than a question, “You don’t remember me, _oh god_.” He sobbed out.

He felt Seamus’ shaking hand on his forearm, turning to see the blond with tears in his eyes as well, “You don’t remember us, Aleks? You don’t remember me, Seamus, your best friend?”

Jordan stared in amazement, “You knew Aleks _before_?”

Seamus nodded for the two of them since James was still in post shock, “I- I was his best friend in middle school,” He paused and tightened his fingers around James, “I introduced James to him in college and-”

“I fell in love with him.” James finished, making Aleks’ eyes widen.

Aleks inhaled a harsh breath, “Who are you?”

Seamus released his comforting hold on James as he smiled sadly, “My name is James, James Wilson.”

Aleks’ eyes lit up at the name, “Your paintings... I love them.”

James smile broke and he fought back the tears that threatened to spill. He hadn’t cried since Aleks’ funeral, where they simply buried an empty casket and James cried into his mother’s hair and held Aleks’ family close.

“You used to help me paint them,” He laughed nostalgically, “You used to get paint everywhere around the apartment.”

Aleks’ face softened, “I lived with you?”

James nodded, swallowing tightly, “You used to cook breakfast every morning and have your book out on the counter so that while you were flipping pancakes you could still study at the same time and I used to eat them even though they were _so bad_.” He said with a soft smile.

Aleks nodded curtly, “Well um, do you mind if I see your paintings?” He murmured, his body rigid as the man in front of him seemed so familiar and his voice was so soft and Aleks could see himself laughing in the mornings with this man, but he couldn’t remember an instance where he did.

James exchanged a look with Seamus, who simply nodded and stared at Aleks once more before pulling Jordan and an extremely confused Joe up to the second story of the building.

James clenched and unclenched his hands, gesturing for Aleks to follow him as they strolled to the back of the building.

James stopped him before they turned the corner, “You can’t be real.” He whispered.

Aleks crossed his arms, suddenly insecure as James stared at him harshly, “What?”

James groaned, pulling at his hair, “You can’t be Aleks. Aleks- he’s, he’s _dead_.”

Aleks felt something in his chest sink at the word, “ _Dead?_ How did he die?” He asked softly.

James looked away from him, “In a fire.”

Aleks felt his lungs constrict within him, his breathing harsh and uneven. He pulled at his hoodie’s sleeve, where he had unusual permanent scars trailing up his arm. James stared at the marks, then back into Aleks’ eyes for a moment and then to the wall behind him where Aleks still could not see.

  
  
James sighed, “Have a look.” He said, stepping aside and watching as Aleks pulled down his sleeve and gasped as he took in the paintings.

They were _all_ of him.

Variations of colorful paintings where his hair was blue and his lips were red or where his skin was yellow and his eyes were green decorated the walls. He sat on stools, couches, park benches, in grass, anywhere and everywhere. His eyes were never looking back at the beholder however, they were always looking off to somewhere else, very distant.

Though, Aleks did find one that was painted in vibrant colors of red and blue. His eyes were painted a dark maroon, while his skin was a light shade of red and his hair was a bright rouge. The background, however, was a mix of shades of blue that resembled water.

Aleks let out an unexpected heave, his eyes watering as he touched the painting gently, “This one is of the fire, isn’t it?” He said softly.

James’ head darted up from its gaze on the ground, “ _What?_ ”

Aleks suddenly felt light headed, “The... fire,” He paused, stumbling slightly before James caught him securely, “We were, we were sleeping and there was so much smoke and my lungs were hurting and you-”

James nodded, “I?”

Aleks’ eyes softened, “You were there, holding me up and helping me and then you were just, _gone_.”

James pressed his lips against the younger’s, a surprised mumble coming from Aleks as he pressed back with the same force. James lifted his hand to cup his cheek, pulling away and kissing him once again with the same wanting as before.

  
Aleks pulled away, “James?” He whispered in realization.

James nodded, his eyes finally letting the joyful tears fall, “I’m here.”

 

\--

 

Seamus checked his watch,  _2:39 AM_ , he smiled. 

**Author's Note:**

> the title is inspired by sigur rós's song varúð and when you translate it into english, the song really has nothing to do with the writing, but the melody and voices in the song really motivated me.


End file.
